


Whumptober 2019

by hopelessly_me



Category: Marvel
Genre: Adrenaline, Asphyxiation, Bleeding Out, Delirium, Don't Move, Dragged away, Embrace, Explosions, Gen, Human shield, Humiliation, Isolation, Muffled scream, Ransom, Recovery, Scars, Secret Injury, Shaky Hands, Stab Wound, Stitches, Tear-stained, Trembling, Unconscious, Whumptober, Whumptober 2019, abandoned, beaten, gunpoint, hallucination, laced drink, numb, pinned down, shackled, stay with me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2020-11-09 10:38:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 18,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20852072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopelessly_me/pseuds/hopelessly_me
Summary: A collection of short stories for the 2019 Whumptober event. Will be adding characters as I go. (And also tags if I can figure them out...)





	1. Shaky Hands

“Come on, Clint, you can do it,” Clint muttered to himself, staring at the creaking gates, the paint chipping off. He would be lying if he claimed his hands weren’t shaking slightly, and he was only going to admit to _slightly_. “Of course it has to be the creepiest freaking place-”

Clint hated cemeteries- they were spooky and scary, and why would he ever need more of that in his life? And he really wasn’t gunning to be haunted for the rest of his life, and he was pretty sure going into a cemetery at night qualified for haunting material.

Why the hell did Bucky want to meet here, anyway? What the hell could be in a cemetery that would interest the brute? And why at night? Bucky had been cleared months ago, deemed not a threat to the public. Hell, Bucky had more freedoms than Clint by this point. So the man could come lay flowers on a grave during the day like a sane, stable person. 

But Bucky had sounded desperate, his voice a bit shaky, cracking a little when he spoke. It was too soft, too filled with pain and Clint knew he had to show up. He had to push his thoughts to the side and focus on the task at hand- going through the gates and find Bucky. His feet shuffled a little, pacing. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, trying to dial Bucky again, but it went straight to voicemail.

Clint grabbed the metal beams of the gate and pulled himself up and perched on top, scanning the area. Nothing really looked amiss- everything was quiet and average at best, and he saw a dim light in the distance. He hoped it was a fixed point to where Bucky was, because he just wanted to be in and out in five minutes or less.

Clint jumped to the other side and looked around before he shoved his hands in his pockets and walked slowly through the cemetery. As he got deeper in, his chest started to constrict a little and he felt his nerves building. He wished he brought his equipment with him- twirling an arrow would at least calm him down, give his hands something to do. Instead he only came out with two hidden knives and a well concealed firearm.

Clint say the light perched on top of a gravestone and saw the man sitting against it, his head between his knees. Something was wrong, and Clint stopped in order to assess the situation. Bucky didn’t look like he was bleeding heavily, but he definitely looked distressed from his pose alone; no one would be sitting against a grave like that otherwise. Despite all of that- he sat still, not moving even though Clint knew he was able to hear footsteps for yards away.

Clint finished the last few steps up to the man and reached a shaky hand out. “Hey Buck,” he said softly, pressing a hand against his shoulder. He felt nothing but panic as the body went limp and slumped over. “Bucky!”


	2. Explosion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint found himself aiding in a search and rescue after a supermarket exploded.

He just needed five minutes- some time to breath, rest his feet, gather his wits. Every muscles felt like it was on fire, and Clint knew he was pushing himself beyond his normal limits. He found a spot to sit amongst the rubble and leaned back, his hands shaking. He reached up and took out his Stark hearing aids, fumbling with them before he threw them several feet away- they weren’t working anyway.

He had just gotten in town after being in the Outback for five days when he was passing by a supermart just as it exploded. His original intent was to buy some instant coffee and some protein bars, maybe pizza if they served it hot. He was already tired and feeling miserable after he had found his target, the climate just didn’t seem to agree with Clint. When the gas line explosion hit, the pressure and bang was loud enough to knock him off his feet, his hearing aids deafening almost instantly- stupid piece of crap Stark tech. 

When things seemed to stabilize, everything was covered in a thin layer of debris and dust. Clint wasted no time getting to his feet and pushing forward to work with law enforcement to search for survivors from the inside. It didn’t take much convincing- being an Avenger did come with perks afterall; but his SHIELD badge was all he had to flash in order to join in the rescue.

Thus far, they found very few survivors, and even at that they seemed to be in critical condition with no guarantee of surviving the night. Clint had unearthed at least one survivor, which sparked his hope enough to continue working for another five hours straight. But with every person who wasn’t breathing, he felt himself losing steam. The sight of a lone children’s shoe was enough to make him back off, needing to take a break. 

Clint looked down between his legs, taking deep breaths and coughing. His hands were bloodied and sore, and he was positive that he wasn’t going to be able to shoot his bow for at least a week with the way they trembled. His pants and shirt weren’t in the best of condition, holes and tears ripping through the fabric; they were caked in a combination of sweat and grime. And God, if his back didn’t feel like he was about eighty at this point.

He saw a bottle of water dangling in front of his face and he blinked, trying to decide if it was real or a delusion from sleep deprivation, he had been up for at least twenty-four hours at this point. He looked up and felt his throat tighten, willing himself not to sob. His hands reached up and tapped his ears before he slowly man his way to his feet. Clint stumbled a moment, his movements jerky from the strain.

_Hey doll- why don’t we sit down for a bit and take it easy?_ Bucky signed after he tucked the water bottle under his arm. His eyes were filled with concern for Clint. Clint reached out and Bucky dropped the bottle in favor for pulling Clint in for a hug.

“I can’t- what if-” Clint said, choking on the words as they came out.

Bucky held Clint away from him and gave him a sad smile. _We can continue, but you need a break. Only human. One step at a time._ Clint nodded and covered his face with his hands, pressing into his eyes until he could see lights. He felt Bucky pulling him in again before he felt himself becoming undone.


	3. Delirium

Clint watched Tony from his spot against the wall, trying to decide what he did to deserve this. Tony had been drinking and flirting all night and when Clint finally got him back to the Tower, he escaped to his lab. For a change in pace, he was a happy drunk tonight instead of teetering between bliss and anger. Tony wasn’t spatially aware of his surroundings by now, swaying and muttering to himself as he drew on his wipe off board.

“Tony- can we go now?” Clint asked for the third time, stifling a yawn.

Tony was startled and looked over. “Oh, hey Clint, when did you get here?” he asked, his hand over his heart. “I’m working on this super-flux incon-”

Clint tuned him out as soon as Tony started to talk smart stuff. What Tony was really working on looked like a lot of barely straight lines and circles on the wipe-off board. Probably part of drunken delirium. His hands were waving in the air as he tried to explain what he was doing to Clint, as if that was somehow going to make it any better.

Then Tony got distracted, again, by the glowing under his shirt. He looked down then pulled the shirt away from his body to look at it directly. Clint marched across the room and before Tony could reach down inside to touch his chest piece, Clint grabbed his wrist. Third time today he got too interested in the damn thing, and while Clint didn’t think Tony was dumb enough to actually play with it, he didn’t want to find out.

“Okay big guy, come on,” Clint said, pulling his wrist away.

He saw a flicker of heat behind Tony’s eyes and prepared himself. “You’re the big guy around here,” he snapped. “Always tall and blond and-”

“Mhh-hmm,” Clint replied. He bent down and scooped Tony up bridal-style. He learned from the last time he had to carry Tony to bed that carrying him over his shoulder wasn’t a great idea, that Tony kicks. “Play with your chest again and I’m going to restrain you.”

Tony gasped in shock, his eyes focused on Clint’s jaw. “You can’t- you can’t just tie me up and have your way with me. I’m married.” Clint couldn’t help but to laugh. God, help him.

“Who are you married to?” Clint asked as they got to the elevator. “Hey J- Tony’s flat please. Thanks.”

“I’m married to… to…” Tony said, trying to think. “The beautiful one!”

“Uh-huh.”

Clint wondered if he could just give Tony one of his own sleeping pills, then wondered if it would react negatively to the arc reactor. Plus side would be that he would actually sleep, but was the risk worth it? If Tony didn’t stop running his hands over Clint’s chest and neck, up to his cheek, Clint was willing to find out.

“Hawkeye… _Hawkeye_,” Tony started mumbling under his breath. “_Hot guy_ Hawkeye.”

Clint was thankful to be off the elevator by the time Tony had decided to make a song out of it. Clint settled Tony down on his bed and proceeded to take his shoes off. Tony was putting up a fight just like an overly tired toddler and Clint was reaching his breaking point.

Tony crawled up to his pillows before he settled in and looked at Clint. “Will you be the big spoon?” he asked shyly.

Clint stared at him, at how innocent he looked at the moment and nodded, all the anger melting away. “Yeah, Tony, I’ll be the big spoon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I failed at the agony part. Though I am fairly certain Tony drunkenly singing is terrible at best.


	4. Human Shield

“It doesn’t have to be like this this- you can put the gun down, no one has to get hurt.” Clint held his hands up, trying to come across as non-threatening. “I mean, don’t you know who you are-”

“I said, give me access to the files,” the man said calmly, digging the gun into Tony’s neck. The man had to have some sort of practice at this behavior, the way he was holding Tony in front of him, the level of control, it was all flawless. 

“Legalas,” Tony warned.

“Did I say rich men can talk?” the man barked and Tony rolled his eyes.

Tony was nothing without his suit- it was what made Tony a force to be reckoned with. But without his suit, Tony was exposed and vulnerable, more so than Clint was; at least Clint had professional training that was extensive. But Tony was adamant- no one could access to his classified file ACB-119-T3. Whatever it contained was top secret level, he was the only one who had access and the only one running the trials and simulations. 

If Clint could just get the man distracted enough so that Tony could press the damn button on his suit he was wearing, the metal scrap would come flying out of no where and smash right through the man holding him captive. This whole thing could be over and Clint could stop feeling anxious.

“I am going to start counting down from ten- and if you don’t have the file open and starting to download onto my flash drive by one, I am killing him and then you,” the man warned. 

“Barton, for the love of God, you are a _sniper_,” Tony growled, “figure this shit out.”

Easy for Tony to say- did it even look like Clint had a gun on him? And they were in Tony’s lab, which meant the only dangerous things he could see and know automatically how to use were across the room and used for wielding. Clint was fairly positive Tony would die before he could make it there and burn the man’s face off. This is what Clint gets for going to check on the man after hours and without his weapons.

“Six- Five-”

If he at least had a quarter, he could make this work. But should he even risk reaching in his pocket?

“Four- three-”

“Tony, give me the fucking code!” Clint begged. Tony remained tight lipped, defiant, putting too much trust in Clint’s abilities to make things work. “JARVIS! Unlock the stupid file! He is being an ass!”

“Two-”

“Access denied, my apologies Agent Barton,” JARVIS said.

“Tony!” Clint implored, his heart racing.  
“One-”

Clint launched himself, trying to tackle them to the ground. He hoped he had put enough momentum into it that when he heard the gunshot that the man hadn’t hit Tony.


	5. Gunpoint

It wasn’t being held at gunpoint that was making him shake, his emotions running high and bubbling over; it wasn’t the first time or the last he would have to stare it down and think of a backup plan. It wasn’t the fact that he knew this base held more people in it that were more dangerous to him than the person standing behind that gun, people that wanted them both dead if they could. _Their_ guns he was worried about, especially when his katana had slipped and was a little too far away for comfort. 

No, it wasn’t the gun that had Clint’s tongue tied, his nerves raw and exposed- it was the woman who was holding the gun. It was that perfect pale skin, the cascade of red hair, and those sharp green eyes that held just as much emotion behind them as his own at the moment. It was the way her breath seemed just as caught as his as they stared at each other, neither able to break the silence that fell between them. It was the one person he trusted above all else.

Clint hadn’t seen her in, well, it had been about three years now. Three years since he lost his cool and quit the Avengers, disappeared from their life, and took on a new persona. He had been so careful in his new line of work, leaving before he knew they could show up. The wake of bodies he left behind was their only way of being able to track his movements for the last year.

Three years of not caring all leading up to this point and Clint felt ashamed. Not that he had killed people who deserved slower deaths than what he grave them; he felt ashamed for not being there for her, for having her find him like this. There had been a handful of times he had considered going back like a whipped pup, tail tucked, ask for forgiveness, but nothing compared to this moment. 

He _missed_ Natasha more than he had realized, watched a single tear escape and leave a trail down her cheek. His fingers itched to weave through her hair, hold the back of her head, and pull her closer. He wanted to drop his hands to her waist, put his forehead against hers and breathe her in, feel her warmth. Hell, Clint would settle for a smile at this point if it meant she wouldn’t look so broken. 

“You- are really him,” Natasha said softly, her gun still steadily trained on him. She choked out a sad laugh and her shoulders pulled up a little higher. “We knew it was you but we- I didn’t- Clint-”

Clint understood how she felt; he knew what it was like when your head was swimming with a million questions. He knew she felt betrayed and he didn’t have a good way to fix it. He thought she would have been fine without him, deserving someone who was leagues better than himself. But seeing her now, he knew that leaving each other behind only had torn them both apart more than it had done either of them good. 

“Hey Tasha,” Clint said, his voice straining to keep his cool, to be strong.


	6. Dragged away

He swore when he ran out of ammo and checked his pack for backup. Bucky swore he had packed more than what he apparently brought, but maybe it was just that they had been at it for too long now. New York was being invaded, _again_, and this time Bucky was permitted to sneak out to aid in the fight. Normally Fury kept his ass benched, knowing the media would have a field day seeing the Winter Soldier; but there were too many of them, and not enough Avengers to go around.

Bucky swore and exchanged his gun for two knives, having to revert himself to close combat. It wasn’t that Bucky wasn’t trained in it, he was more than skilled, but he hated getting alien juice out of his clothing- it took hours of sheer agonizing work the last time, and he could still faintly smell something fishy on his favorite vest.

“Out of ammo- where the hell do I hit these things?” Bucky asked over the comm system.

“_Best chance is under the third plate in their chest_,” Natasha answered. “_Need backup, Barnes_?” She almost sounded worried. Leave it to Natasha  
.  
“I’m sorry, do I look like someone who typically needs backup?” Bucky quipped.

Like hell Bucky needed backup, not that he would ask for it anyway even if he did. But he could handle a few of these hard-shelled alien _things_ solo for awhile. He still had plenty of steam left in him. He knew she wasn’t being insulting.

“You need-”

“We gotta go,” Steve said behind him, grabbing his arm and pulling.

Bucky was about to argue when there was a loud explosion, both of them stumbling backwards. Bucky looked towards the plume of smoke and embers and his chest tightened as his jaw dropped. If he remembered correctly, that was where-

“Clint!” Bucky shouted, surging forward. Steve got his hands on Bucky and started to pull him backwards. “Clint was in that area! Steve-”

“We have to go,” Steve repeated, dragging Bucky backwards. “There’s going to be another explosion here in about-”

“But it was where he was! Clint was there!” Bucky shouted, his eyes wide.

Steve was silent but when Bucky saw his face he knew- he just knew it. He tried to pull free, spin his body and break into a run, but Steve was one step ahead of him. Bucky felt himself collapsing, spiraling out of control as Steve dragged him backwards, away from the area. Within two minutes another set of explosions sent them both sprawling on the ground, thin layers of debris covering them.

“No, no no no,” Bucky muttered as he pulled himself up, his hands shaking, everything was beginning to hurt. “What did you do?” he asked Steve. Steve only shook his head.   
“What-”

“Hey babe.” Bucky froze and he felt the sob escape. Clint sounded so- so calm and in pain. He hated that about Clint- the man had the horrible habit of trying to downplay his pain and trauma, always had to be the funny guy. “_Hey- I’ll- I’ll be okay. Just- just go, okay? Stick with Steve._” Bucky hung his head. 

“I can’t- not without you,” Bucky cried.

“_Everything will be okay, Buck. You’ll see._”


	7. Isolation

The room was dark, just how he liked it. There was nothing to disturb him, nothing to catch his attention- he could just lay there and be the complete waste of space that he was. What was he even thinking? He wasn’t fit for this life; perhaps at one time he was, but after years of torture and not being himself, he was deserving of being locked away for the rest of his miserable existence.

James Buchanan Barnes was a threat to society, everyone seemed to know that except for Steve and his friends. The media got it right, even the government finally agreed on something- Bucky should be monitored in a secure facility, never around the public. All he was going to do was hurt someone. 

And he did- he hurt someone. He hadn’t meant to, but he was taken by surprise and his fight or flight response kicked into high gear. The sheer horror he felt when he saw the aftermath was enough to make him sick. Maybe if he were just a normal human, maybe he would be safe. But he had some knock off super soldier serum injected in him, and that stupid nightmare of an arm and-

He deserved this. He deserved to lock himself away, isolate himself from everyone. It was a slow and agonizing death, maybe, but he brought it upon himself. He was never going to get better, his nightmares proved that. He was afraid of himself, of what he could do, and that only added to the problem. But at least if he locked himself away, wouldn’t allow anyone close, he would never be able to hurt someone again. 

So- isolation was worth it, even if it was driving him crazy. He was beginning to hear noises, distant but they were still there. Maybe he should at least turn a light on, give him mind some kind of baring to work with so that he didn’t go insane. But the noise was above him, in the vents, and growing louder. Bucky pulled himself out of his bed and into a corner in a frantic way. He shouldn’t be this deluded only four days into isolation.

Bucky felt his heart lurch into his throat when he heard the shifting of metal. He pressed his back into the wall and inched his way over to a nightstand where he knew a lamp was. He just needed to calm down- to get his mind on straight. The light flickered on and he sucked in a sharp breath.

“No,” Bucky choked out, holding back a sob as the tall blond angled himself out of the vents, landing on his feet with one arm in a cast. “Leave. Now.”

“You are overreacting,” Clint explained calmly. “It’s just a broken-”

“I hurt you!” Bucky growled. “You were just trying to do something nice and I broke your arm in three different places. Crawl your ass back up in that vent and leave,” he begged. “Use the front door, I don’t care. You can’t be here.”

Clint’s smile was marked with sadness and he took a step closer; Bucky retreated. “Don’t do this to yourself, Buck. I’ve been down this road, and it’s dark and scary. You deserve better than that.”

“I want you to leave. I don’t want to- I don’t want to hurt you again,” Bucky whispered, his voice cracking and he knew the tears were coming. “Clint, _please._”

Clint reached a hand out as he stepped forward. Despite his height advantage, he looked small, so fragile. “I just want to help you, Buck.”


	8. Stab Wound

Clint dragged his hand along the wall, leaving a trail of blood against the stark white. He wasn’t even supposed to be on this mission, but he couldn’t turn down Steve and Bucky on taking down a HYDRA base, especially after Fury made it a point to personally call him to move his ass. Clint shot the person wearing a labcoat that came out of a side room, then took down the HYDRA baddie that followed. He was out of fucks to give at this point as he made his way deeper.

The day had been a nightmare. The mission ended up being a trap, which would have been no big deal if his hearing aids hadn’t had gone out of him after the first hour. For another solid hour he fought in silence, having to rely on his other senses to pick up the slack. He was so focused on not letting bad guy number one slit his throat, grabbing the knife’s blade with his hand, that he wasn’t aware bad guy number two was coming in for the sneak attack. Now he was bleeding from his left hand and his right abdomen, and he was losing energy fast.

His only hope was that Steve and Bucky would see his bow laying next to the initial blood puddle and follow the trail he left. Clint settled down around a shelving unit, providing himself the bare minimum coverage he needed as he worked to open a package that contained a small amount of supplies he could use to slow the bleeding. Working with only one hand was a real damper.

Time started to slow down it seemed, and Clint was losing track of time. It was getting cold, which he was pretty sure wasn’t a good thing, and he was sweating, also not a good thing. Come on guys he thought as he held his left hand against his right stab wound, hoping to slow both bleeds at the same time. He considered moving again, finding an exit to he could maybe flag someone down for extraction, but his legs protested the notion. 

He laid his handgun on his lap, ready for the next person to come his way. If there was one thing that Clint was positive of, it was that HYDRA wasn’t going to take him down without a hell of a fight.

Why the hell was it always HYDRA, anyway? Couldn’t Doom decide to make a reappearance? Clint was great at shooting down Doombots. Hell, he preferred that one time he had to take on vampires with Kate over having to deal with HYDRA all the time. Maybe if he moved out west again he wouldn’t have so much HYDRA contract. Then again, two Hakweyes on the west coast proved to be terribly confusing for everyone.

Movement caught his eye and he ducked his head, angling it to get a better look through the boxes. He smirked and leaned back against the wall. Saved by Star Spangled Rogers. “Took you long enough,” he grunted to catch Steve’s attention.

When Steve finally situated himself in front of Clint he looked pissed, his mouth moving a mile a minute. Clint only smiled cockily, blissfully unaware of what he was saying and watching the anger building; Steve hated when Clint grinned like an idiot. When Steve figured out the issue with him comms, he looked even more mad and he lifted Clint up roughly, tossing him over his shoulder.

Clint was sure he winced, hopefully loudly for extra dramatics. He closed his eyes and smiled a little; he was safe now, so he could finally rest his eyes.


	9. Shackled

He thought he was prepared; it’s not like he hadn’t seen things like this before numerous times. But this was too personal, too close, and Clint wanted to both run away and throw up. His hands were itching, needing to find something to do in order to keep his emotions in check, so I reached into his pocket and pulled out a coin, turning it over. It would work for now.

Clint wasn’t exactly sure why they were there, but Natasha wanted to stop on their way back towards safety. They had been in Russia and Ukraine for the last two weeks, working a case together before they took down their targets. It was a weapons deal with A.I.M., and Clint always enjoyed ruining rich people’s fun. The drive tacked on an extra hour, but he would have compromised tacking on an extra three if Natasha had asked.

The outside of the building was still structurally sound, the paint flaking off and apparently duller than Natasha had remembered. Clint nearly raced to get inside, away from frigid cold that was settling in his bones. The floors creaked under his feet as he paced the inside of the compound. The paintings on the walls were torn, teetering dangerously close to falling off and smashed on the ground. Some of the rooms on the main level had graffiti spray painted in them.

Natasha had made her way downstairs first and Clint waited. He knew what was down there, he didn’t need the image. Downstairs is where the girls learned “ballet”, the dangerous dance of taking down enemies, how to fire a gun, how to do unspeakable things for their delicate age. He had seen a replica once and that was enough to leave him tracking down names for days, making sure the ones he did find were already dead. And if not- they hadn’t stayed alive for much longer.

It was upstairs that had Clint in a flurry of emotions. It was the rooms that held tiny beds, all set up in a row. It was what Natasha called the isolation rooms where she had been shackled more than once. Clint didn’t need to know if the same shackles were still hanging on the wall- it was an image he didn’t need to picture in his mind; how small they were was enough to haunt him. There were rooms where little girls learned how to play a man on a more intimate basis. 

“Why are we here?” Clint asked, his chest aching to leave. 

If he was this worked up about it, how the hell was Nat handling it? She looked so calm as she walked the rooms, her fingers trailing over the railings on the beds, her fingers caking in dust. She was immovable and it was driving him crazy.

“Sometimes I like to remember where I came from, so I know what I am fighting for,” Natasha replied, her voice too even for Clint’s liking. “I don’t want anyone else to have to go through this, no more little girls, so I work hard to make sure it never happens again, not if I have any say in it.”

Clint stepped closer and leaned against his best friend, one arm carelessly draped around her shoulders. He wanted her to at least show some sort of emotion by being there, something other than stone faced. He knew for a fact he was nowhere close to her level of control at the moment.

When Natasha turned to look at him he thought he caught a glimpse of fire behind her eyes before she reached up, holding his hand. “It’s my past to be sad about,” she reminded him gently. She looked away, her eyes scanning the room.

“Yeah, I know,” Clint replied, pressing a kiss against her forehead. “Take your time.”


	10. Unconscious

Clint made his way through the cave slowly, carefully, afraid the walls would collapse and now there would be two people stuck. Clint also was acutely aware that he wasn’t the best choice for this particular recovery- Clint was tall and had broad shoulders, and even if he was extremely bendable, the squeeze was tight.

He had received the SOS signal an hour ago, Tony somehow smashing his suit through the small opening and getting stuck further in. For the first bit of his trip, Tony was cracking jokes that weren’t anywhere close to being funny. It was probably the man’s nerves, a defense mechanism. Clint suggested he leave the suit behind, build a new one, but Tony dismissed it as a terrible idea; Clint worries there was more to it but Tony wasn’t caving.

Now Clint was working in near silence, Tony’s voice had gone out about ten minutes ago now and Clint was finding it harder to keep calm about the situation. Yes, him and Tony argued, broken up two weeks ago and had barely seen each other outside of Avenger events, but Clint still loved the man; it was hard not to after being with him for six months. Clint checked the oxygen meter he had on him, confirming his difficulty breathing had more to do with Tony’s lack of communication and not because the oxygen levels had dipped to dangerous levels.

Clint managed to make it to a space that had an opening; he still had to crouch, but not by much. He dusted his hands off onto his pants and he flashed his light around. Near the back of the clearing was a flash of red and gaudy gold. Clint’s heart rate picked up and he shuffled over as quickly as he could before he knelt down. He pulled the helmet off and saw the blood that covered Tony’s face as he reached down, checking his pulse. Good- just unconscious.

Clint methodically observed Tony, trying to figure out what all was broken, or bruised, or punctured. He had to use the AI system in the suit to send a more detailed SOS to the team than what Tony had given him. He picked at the suit, trying to figure out how he could use it to stabilize a clearly broken arm.

“We aren’t dating anymore, you can’t just undress me whenever.” Clint’s eyes flickered up to Tony’s face, his eyes still glazed over but he had that obnoxious grin.

Clint wanted to be mad- he wanted to hit Tony and shout, tell him the joke was poorly timed and not funny. But hearing his voice for the first time in a half hour? Clint felt a bubble of emotions explode from his chest and he laughed and shook his head.

“Pretend you don’t like it,” Clint replied. “You could have called the others- now we are both stuck for a few hours. I can’t drag you out, Tony. I’m skilled but not a miracle worker.”

Tony almost looked pleased but Clint could recognize the sadness and pain before Tony even opened his mouth. “Maybe now we can finally talk… about what happened. About us.”

Clint should have known Tony would have been stupid enough to pull this kind of stunt, but he was too busy figuring out directions that he didn’t pay attention to that nagging feeling that maybe he had pulled a fast one. Tony was always one for the dramatics, and this? This took the damn cake.

Clint sat back, wrapping his arms around his knees. “Sure- let’s talk. But next time? Maybe don’t fly into a cave and make yourself a bloody mess just in order to lure me into talking?”

“Noted, birdbrain.”


	11. Stitches

The worst thing about dating Clint Barton wasn’t the fact that he could be messy. His apartment was always in various states of clutter, whether it be forgetting to take the garbage out, the pizza boxes piling up to an inhumane level, to never fully unpacking his things. Sometimes he would misplace his hearing aids and search for them before caving and asking Tony to give him a new pair, which he snarked about but agreed.

The worst thing about dating Clint Barton wasn’t that sometimes he had a wandering eye at times. Sure, he was getting better about that particular issue, but it was still a point of stress. Not that he was any better- he had his fair share of incidents where he wasn’t completely faithful either.

Hell, the worst part of dating Hawkeye wasn’t that he found trouble without trying. Clint seemed to always have someone hounding him, whether it be the damn Russians in this trench coats, or various people from his past. It didn’t help that everyone was well aware of just how human Clint was and tried to use that to their advantage.

None of that mattered. To Tony, the worst part of dating Clint Barton was watching him after he got home from long, particularly hard missions. The way Clint seemed to shut down as soon as he got home, his blank stare as he stripped out of his gear and pile it in the designated spot, and then repeat the process when the pile would inevitably topple. On those days he wouldn’t make a pot of coffee, preferring to kiss Tony’s cheek briefly before disappearing to the bathroom without a word, and then fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillows in their room.

Sometimes he would have nightmare after nightmare, shaking uncontrollably as he reminded himself that he was at home, somewhere safe. He would never talk about, even when asked after he said something subconsciously; he would clench his teeth and bare the pain of it all by himself if he could. Tony learned the hard way that after a nightmare you would have to wait a few agonizing minutes to touch Clint, to support him in the only way he would allow.

But then there were days like Tuesday. Tony warily watched his boyfriend whistle as he got home from a mission, stacking his belongings before giving Tony a devilish smile as he crossed the room and embrace him. Clint had been hurt, Natasha warned Tony, but it never made it easier. Clint refused medical, stating he was fine despite the obvious limp.

“Wanna help me with some stitches?” Clint asked too excitedly.

“I am going to have to pass,” Tony replied. Clint only shrugged his shoulders and went to the bathroom, Tony in tow.

Tony hated that Clint knew how to do these things himself with well practiced. Clint cleaned the gash above his eye, making a statement about having some scar like some celebrity. He stitched his face as he babbled on about his mission with Natasha, cheerful he got to work as Strike Team Delta again, saying it with pride. It was both impressive and heartbreaking to watch the inner struggle while outwardly Clint looked gleeful.

These were the days Tony hated the most because he knew the aftermath was coming. Eventually, Clint would shut down and have nightmares, become quiet as he processed. Tony hated these moments where Clint was professionally tricking himself into being happy; Clint solely did it for Tony’s benefit. Tony hated it because he got to watch as the carefree spirit that was Barton fade and be replaced with a shadow of the man he loved.


	12. "Don't Move"

“Don’t move.”

“Yeah, not going to be an issue there, Barnacles,” Clint groaned, laying on his back and his hands over his head, grabbing onto a bar. He moved an inch and he hissed in pain.

“What did I literally just get done telling you?” Bucky growled.

“Piss off, Barnes.”

Clint had been locked away for days. He remembered he was on a mission, but he couldn’t tell you what it was about anymore. He remembered something sharp poking into his neck and the next thing he knew, he was being interrogated for information. The bad thing was- Clint couldn’t remember what they wanted to know or if he caved and told them anything.

Now he was in a freezing cold room, dumped in his boxers and shirt and he was certain something was broken but he wasn’t sure what. He couldn’t focus to save his life and everything felt light and fuzzy.

“Where am I?” Clint asked.

“We’ve been through this twice already, Barton,” Bucky said, shoving his phone away. “You need to lay still, not move. People will be here in twenty.”

“That doesn’t answer where I am,” Clint muttered. “Why why the hell it’s so cold? Aww no, am I in Russia? I hate Russia. Nothing good ever happens to me in Russia. Wait- why are you here in Russia? Don’t you hate Russia?”

“Stop talking, Barton,” Bucky muttered.

Clint glared at Bucky before he closed his eyes. You know who wouldn’t be a prick right now? Nat. Natasha would be soothing, make him feel better. She probably at least would have given him something warm to wear. But no- he was stuck with his- whatever Bucky was to him, because Clint had no idea anymore if they were dating or just friends with benefits at this point.

Clint shivered and he tried to sit up before he gasped and grabbed his abdomen and laid back down. His head was swimming again and he tried to roll onto his side but Bucky was on top of him, pinning him down.

“Clint, for the last time,” Bucky said. “You were heavily drugged, you were beaten, you were tortured. You have a high fever. You aren’t in Russia, you are just outside of Varanasi. I need you to stay still. Don’t move.”

“Varanasi?” Clint asked. “Never heard of it. Varanasi.” He repeated the city name a few times before he laughed and groaned.

Clint looked at Bucky and tilted his head; Bucky actually looked upset. He still looked like a wet cat, all scowly, but he didn’t look as mad as he looked concerned. Clint hadn’t noticed before the speckling of blood on his neck and cheek, or the few strands of hair that escaped the man bun. Clint reached a hand up, trying to ignore the stabbing pain in his shoulder so he could touch Bucky’s face. 

Bucky caught his hand and forced his arm back down. “Clint, come on, stop,” he said softly. “You are going to hurt yourself some more.”

Clint nodded and he felt his lips begin to quiver. “Did… did I tell them? What they wanted? Did I fail?”

Bucky sighed and loosened his grip. “I don’t know, Clint. I’m sorry.”


	13. Adrenaline

Clint was breathing heavily as he ran through the maze of mirrors and hedges, glancing backwards to make sure he wasn’t being closely trailed. He pulled himself off to the side and doubled over, gasping to catch his breath. His lungs were on fire, his legs wobbled a little and threatened to give out. He was only still running through adrenaline- and he feared that if he stayed still for too long,the adrenaline rush would crash and he would crumble.

He couldn’t stay stationary for long. Whatever was in the maze, it would catch up to him again, which would be a bad thing judging my the silence from the others he came with. Natasha’s voice was the first to go, followed by Steve, then Tony, and the last voice he heard was Thor’s. As his world became more silent, Clint started to panic more. He didn’t know how the team got separated, but he could hear just fine so it wasn’t that his hearing aids failed.

Clint heard something dragging on the ground and he peered around the corner of his hiding spot. Whatever it was, it caught up and was heading his way. He didn’t know what the thing was, only seeing it in the shadows, but he the noise it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, so he didn’t want to get too close to find out. Clint swore under his breath and stumbled forward before he took off on a sprint again, hoping he didn’t run into a dead end.

Clint stopped when he got to the middle of the maze again, turning around in a circle. He had been here before, he knew it, but he didn’t remember which way he came and went from. What he did know was that he saw the same height of hedges, an easy enough height to scale it, and he had tried; but as soon as his hands hit the top, a jolt shot through his arms and he had to drop back down.

Clint heard the scratching of metal against the hedges and he turned around to look at the shadows. He saw it there, he knew it was close, but he was so tired. He reached up and played with his hearing aids, switching the comm unit off and on again. “Come on- you guys are better than me at this. Someone has to be alive and hearing me.” He waited but nothing came back to him. 

Oddly enough- the monster of the maze had stopped moving, was silent. Clint squinted his eyes, peered into the shadows, but there was nothing there. He couldn’t even hear it’s breathing, or the scraping of metal. He took a step forward towards the shadow, cursing himself as he did. He watched enough horror movies to know this was not ideal, that this was how the pretty blond always died.

But he saw something the closer he got, something more human looking. His hands reached out steadily, as if he could actually catch whatever was there off guard. When the human turned, he was greeted with green eyes and he sucked in a sharp breath, recoiling quickly and reaching for a gun that wasn’t there.  
The figure stepped out, his long hair slicked back and a grin on his face. Clint tried to keep the panicked sensation down as he took another step away from the man he wished he would have killed when he had the chance.

“Agent Barton- it has been awhile,” the man said sickeningly sweet.

“Loki.”


	14. Tear-stained

Clint needed fresh air, so he had to walk out onto the balcony. He took a deep breath and leaned on the railing, trying to figure out where everything had gone wrong. They were fine, and then in an instant, everything became messy and he had no idea why. There had been a lot of yelling and Clint just asked why the sudden shift of emotion.

This was their honeymoon, the one they never had the time to take back when they actually got married. And for the first three days, everything was standard. They went sightseeing, swimming in the ocean, all the cliche things couples do when they go on vacation. Most Americans traveled with tour groups but not them- they drove themselves anywhere to explore because they weren’t afraid of anyone or anything. Together- they were invincible.

Clint turned back and looked inside the suite they shared and his heart broke. Natasha was still in bed, her legs tucked up to her chest and even from this distance he could make out her tear-stained face perfectly. It had been an hour since their fight and she was still upset and crying and Clint didn’t know why.

He sighed and he walked back inside. He crawled on top of the bed and sat on his knees opposite of her. “Where did I go wrong?” he asked gently, carefully. He didn’t want a round three but he was prepared.

“It’s not you, it’s me.”

“Ugh, Nat, I hate that saying,” Clint groaned. “I said something and you got upset and-”

“You want kids.”

Clint paused and tilted his head. “Uh- I mean, maybe? I mean, I do. But imagine us as parents. We would be the literal worst.”

Natasha shook her head and looked down at her hands; she looked so vulnerable. “You would be the best, and that’s the problem. Us, marrying- this is a mistake.”

“Woah, wait, back up,” Clint urged. He moved to sit next to her, his shoulder barely brushing against hers. “Where the hell is this coming from?” he asked.

Natasha swallowed and tightened her grip around her legs. “You know I can’t have children, Clint. And you want them, and you’d be great at it. Yesterday at the pools-”

“And me being good with kids means we shouldn’t have gotten married how?” Clint asked, still confused.

“Because I can’t give you what you deserve,” Natasha answered, releasing her hold of her legs and brushing the tears from her cheeks.

Clint watched her then bumped into her shoulder. “I’m not used to being the smart one here, Nat, but I’ll try,” he said gently. “I married you because I love you, more than anything. I married you knowing you can’t have children because that’s a small detail.” He turned his head and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “If we want kids, Nat, we’ll adopt ‘em. Save some kids from living in foster care? I’d be game for it if you are.”

Natasha was silent, pressing her body against his. She was playing with the simple band on her finger before she reached over and took his hand, playing with his. He watched her calm down, letting her work through it.

“You are serious?” Natasha asked softly. Clint shrugged then nodded when she glanced up at him. She gave him a shy smile before she looked down. “Us- parents- it sounds… right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I failed at being angsty with this one. >.> I ran out of angst juice and went for it.


	15. Hallucination

Clint just needed the crying to stop so he could focus, but as he looked at the little red head, her green eyes swimming with fear, he swallowed hard. The pleads of “daddy” weren’t improving the situation any. Then he saw the baby, the one who was being loud, his dark brown hair short and barely there. But Clint didn’t _know_ them- he’d never seen them before in his life, and yet it hurt nonetheless.

Clint had woken up to a weight in his chest, something unfamiliar and strange. He smelled bubblegum in the mess of red hair that was sprayed across his chest. He stared down at the tiny face that grinned up at him, counted the freckles, before it hit him in the chest. He had gotten up quickly, sending the little girl flying to the other end of the bed and he immediately went into his bedside table where he _knew_ there would be a gun. He might not use a gun often, but he wasn’t stupid.

“Daddy,” the little girl whispered, clinging to Bucky’s leg. “Papa, what’s wrong with daddy?” The words stung and Clint couldn’t catch his breath. He focused on the little face before he focused on Bucky.

“Clint, lower the gun,” Bucky said calmly. But it wasn’t his voice. Clint _knew_ Bucky’s voice, the roughness and the smoothness; this voice was smoother and sweeter. “You had a bad dream,” he reasoned.

“Stop talking,” Clint begged, his voice cracking. He looked at the gun but couldn’t recognize it; it certainly wasn’t his, the weight was all wrong. Clint thought he had Bucky’s weapon stash memorized but maybe… maybe he was wrong. No, Clint _knew_ every weapon Bucky had. He had to focus.

“Clint,” Bucky said again, taking a small step forward. There was a little boy on his hip, not even one yet, just keep screaming, clinging to Bucky. The eerie way the child looked like Bucky made Clint’s heart break more.

“Please, Bucky, stop,” Clint implored, not backing down. “I just- I need to think.”

He didn’t know why he was begging this man that looked like Bucky but wasn’t him. Clint only saw it twice, but there was a weird shimmer if he turned just right, if either child moved just right. Clint knew this had to be fake, a hallucination. Clint didn’t remember anything about the two children that stood between him and Bucky, just patched up memories that wouldn’t connect any dots. It was all _wrong_ and it hurt.

“You aren’t real,” Clint whispered, feeling the tears start to fall. “None of this is real, they aren’t real. This is- this is a trick.” Clint could feel his throat tighten at the thought as he fought not to sob. “Oh god, he’s got me again, doesn’t he?”

“Clint, please,” Bucky said as calmly as he could but his voice was breaking. “We adopted Natalie three years ago, Grant from birth. You retired three years ago when we got Nat-you wanted this. This was your dream, everything you always wanted.”

The little girl broke away from Bucky and ran to Clint. Her little body collided with his, her head pressed firmly against his thigh. She kept calling him daddy, kept begging to be picked up. 

“This is everything you ever wanted,” Bucky repeated.

Clint took a deep breath and leveled the gun with Bucky’s head. “I know- that’s how I know this isn’t real.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A wee bit out of order but this one came to me so easily I had to write it before I forgot about it.


	16. Scars

He knew Clint had scars, everyone on the team knew that, but it still never prepared him at the sight of scars that littered his body; Bucky never got used to seeing them. They ranged in size and shape, some more visible than others. Some of them, he was told, came with interesting stories, while others were from Clint hurting himself in the most mundane of ways.

But then there were the ones that remained storyless, the ones Clint wouldn’t talk about. When they started to get to know each other, Bucky had asked and Clint would give a half smirk as he diverted attention. Normally it was “Oh, you don’t want to hear that story”, to “eh- pass”, to just a shrug. Whatever those stories were, Clint would always look distant when those scars were brought to his attention.

When Clint had gotten back from the mission, Bucky knew they would have a long day. Everyone on the team had taken a hit mentally from it, but Clint was coping the worst. The first time he woke up m Clint was in a panic and had to be restrained. After several more naps, several agonizing hours, Clint was allowed out of his restraints. It took nearly four hours before Bucky could touch Clint without him flinching away. It finally settled out so that they could lay down together; Clint molded himself around Bucky, an arm slung around Bucky’s waist and his head on Bucky’s chest; Clint awkwardly laid on his side, one leg covering both of Bucky’s.

Bucky was still too afraid to touch Clint more than they were. Clint had deep bruising around his ribs, but it was nothing compared to the bruising on the archer’s wrists and ankles. Bucky could still hear the pained scream when Bucky had to restrain him for the nurses. He looked fragile, like he could break apart at any moment.

But all of that paled in comparison to the question Clint frantically asked the second time he had woken up. Bucky watched as Clint flinched away from Bucky, his eyes wide and his body trembling. “Do we have kids?” he asked at least half a dozen times, each more frantic than the last as Bucky reeled from the question. It wasn’t until Bucky assured him they had never had kids that Clint both calmed and broke down.

Bucky pulled his hand away when Clint winced, unaware that he had pressed too hard against his hip. Clint’s eyes focused on Bucky for the first time in an hour, a moment of clarity that Bucky knew was going to go away as quickly as it came. Clint tightened his hold around Bucky for a moment before he looked too tired to hold on much longer.

“ ‘m sorry,” Clint whispered.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Bucky promised, tilting his head down to kiss the top of Clint’s head. “You were tired and disoriented. And look- no bruise,” Bucky said, angling his head for Clint to see. Bucky would be lying if he said the punch didn’t hurt like a bitch when Clint nailed him good, but he wasn’t going to vocalize that.

Clint gave a small nod before he shifted, trying to get comfortable again. “Do you want to talk about it?” Bucky asked, his fingers coming up to where Clint’s shoulder was bandaged.

Clint followed Bucky’s fingers, watching them, as silent as ever. Bucky had a feeling this was going to turn into another wordless scar story. Clint took a deep breath, winced, then slumped against Bucky’s body.

“Nah, Buck, you don’t wanna hear that story,” he muttered.


	17. Pinned Down

Clint sank back down into safety, swearing under his breath. He pressed his hands firmly against the leaking wound on his left side and tried to focus. They were pinned down to their location for over thirty minutes and he still couldn’t come up with a good plan. All the while, he was pretty sure he was bleeding to death in the streets of Budapest of all places. He closed his eyes and took as deep a breath as he could manage, the pain bringing his mind back to alertness.

He failed. It wasn’t the first time he had failed a mission, failed at making Coulson proud; but he was beginning to worry this was going to be his last attempt. Out of life, no magic potion to bring him back. And if there was mission he really didn’t want to fail, it was this one; because failing this mission meant he was failing her.

He was supposed to take out the Black Widow, the notorious Russian assassin. Outsmarting an assassin was hard, but Clint had plenty of experience in that department. But he wasn’t prepared to meet the redhead that was both unapologetically fiery and secretly afraid. No one had warned Clint that she was barely nineteen, five years younger than himself. He had her right where he needed her, pinned down and knowing what was coming- and he couldn’t pull the trigger. So he made her a deal instead- if she turned herself over willingly, he would do whatever it took to prove her wrong- prove to her that there could be a better life than what she was living.

Getting shot wasn’t part of his plan. They were supposed to head back in the morning, take a flight back into a S.H.I.E.L.D. base so Clint could gravel at Coulson’s feet if he had to. Maybe she should have been put down, but Clint had a gut feeling that their stories weren’t going to end in Europe. If there was one thing that Clint could always rely on, it was his intuition about people.

“Just let me go and they will leave you,” Natalia said softly, her eyes cold.

“You’re cute if you believe that,” Clint chuckled.

“I will cut them a different deal,” she said. “Something they cannot refuse.”

“We just… we need a distraction. A big one,” Clint explained.

Clint had one, but he wasn’t sure if it was going to work. He moved his hands off the wound and fumbled with his tactical gear, pulling out his S.H.I.E.L.D. badge. He slapped it in her hands and smiled. “Promise me this. You get the hell out of here after I do the big dumb. You go to S.H.I.E.L.D., and you do better than I ever could.”  
“What are you doing?” she asked.

“The big dumb,” Clint answered. “Not sure if it will work, but hell- I’m dying anyway. Worth a shot.”

Clint pulled out his last arrow and looked at it. He had made these before, but nothing on this grand of a scale. He wasn’t even sure if the compounds inside the tip were right. He got up and pulled up his bow. He looked through a window and saw the car that was running. It was really all he needed. He drew his bow back, and turned, standing up and anchoring himself before he took the shot. He felt something pierce through his shoulder as he fell back, his eyes on the arrow.

Clint wasn’t ashamed to admit he cried when he heard the explosion. Natalia caught him on his fall and gave him a strange look. “Explosive arrow. Boom.”


	18. Stay with me

“Stay with me.”

The request was so simple, so innocent, but it was heavy and loaded. It was never that simple, was it? But God, did he wish it was. 

Clint turned around and looked at the bed, his hands still on the railing of the balcony. He should have left while she was still asleep, but he had already left her once in the worst way he could imagine. Doing it again- he wasn’t sure he would be afforded a third time.

“You know I can’t,” Clint replied.

“You can,” Natasha replied, crawling to the end of the bed. For being one of the most fearsome assassins to ever live, Clint could only see the softness, the vulnerability. He had stopped seeing her as a threat so long ago, he couldn’t even remember what it was like anymore.

“Nat-”

“No one will blame you, everyone will accept you back in,” Natasha explained hurriedly. “You don’t have to be this anymore, Clint. You don’t have to live like this.”

“Tasha-”

“I just want you back,” Natasha whispered.

If there was a way to break Clint, Natasha was the easiest way. They had so much history, been through so much, and he had thrown it away. He didn’t understand how he deserved her trust still after he had stomped on it, crushing it in a thousand little pieces. But she made her way off the bed, pulling the sheets along with her. She was so timid, so scared, and it was breaking him.

“It’ll never be the same, Nat,” Clint replied.

“Maybe, maybe not. But it could be better,” she insisted. 

She reached up and brushed her hand along his jawline. He resisted the urge to lean down and kiss her even as she pressed closer. Clint would love to say screw it all, to stay there for however long she wanted. He wanted to go home, to see everyone again. He thought he could do it all for her, just to see her smile again; not the half smile she wore but the real one she rarely showed.

“I can’t.” Clint gave her a weak smile. “As long as the Avengers are being controlled by the government, unable to move about how we want- I can’t sit back and let things happen, bad things happen, because someone put limits up. I have the ability to do so much more than what they will allow. And at one point- you felt the same way too.”  
The betrayal on her face made him feel like his heart had shattered. Clint put his hands on her shoulders, forcing them apart from each other. She was trying to make amends in her life- right wrongs that she felt she needed to correct. All he was going to do was ruin that chance for her, and he wasn’t going to be that guy. Clint couldn’t be that guy to Natasha.

“As long as I am Ronin, I can’t be seen with you. I made a mistake staying as long as I have,” Clint explained. Natasha shook her head and closed her eyes, tears bursting at the seams. He leaned down and kissed the top of her head. He just needed to smell it one more time. “I am… so sorry, Tasha. This has to be goodbye.”


	19. Muffled Scream

“Shhh, it’s going to be okay,” Clint whispered as close to the child’s ear as he could. He had one arm firmly around their midsection, the other covering their mouth. Both of them were covered in soot, and he was pretty sure the child had been injured but he didn’t have the time for that. He felt the hot breath and moisture from another scream, tears streaming down the child’s face.

Clint was unprepared for this- he was used to fighting the bad guys, not watching a child. How do you even calm a four year old? He was certain he was doing it all wrong but he couldn’t let the kid scream. If the kid screamed, their location would be given away and one or both of them would die.

_Come on, Nat. What the hell is taking you so long?_ If Nat could just get to them and take the kid, Clint could work out a plan. But all his plans were usually shit and extremely risky, and the floor they were stuck on was already crumbling around them.

Clinht caught a glimpse of something moving outside the closet and he tensed. The child tried to scream against his hand again and Clint had to bite down the urge to say “fuck it” and go out, guns blazing. Whatever the thing was, it was big, hard to kill, and it wasn’t alone. Clint saw two more shadows of something pass. He pulled the child closer to his body instinctively. This was not good-

_“I can’t get to you yet, you have to stick it out a few more minutes there, Barton.”_

Clint didn’t have a few more minutes. Clint had a few more seconds if he were lucky. He let go of the child’s midsection and grabbed his gun. One was close- too close- and Clint was pretty sure it was smelling for them. Clint held his breath and turned his head, forcing the child to turn theirs, and he waited.

It was a long, agonzing, painful minute, but the thing seemed to back away. He heard movement and tried to spot the shadows out of the corner of his eye. They were leaving. Clint tossed his head back and gasped in a breath. They were going to be okay- him and the kid. They were going to make it. Everything was going to be-

His hand slipped from the wetness but before he could push it back up the kid let out an ear-splitting scream. Clint’s eyes widened as he tried to muffle it again, desperate. “No, no, no,” Clint whispered. “Sh, sh, please-”

Clint turned his body instinctively when the door to the closet got ripped from the hinges, trying to cover the child. He felt something pierce through his vest, claws digging into his back as he was ripped away. Clint let go, hoping they wouldn’t see the kid as the thing threw him across the room. Clint heard the cracking of a rib, felt the air leave his body as he landed on the ground.

Another scream. Clint opened his eyes and saw the creature lift the child up from the closet, little feet kicking away. Clint closed his eyes and swallowed and counted. The room was silent by the time he got to four.

Clint’s hand was shaking when he reached up to touch his comm. “I lost… I lost the kid. I lost the 0-8-4.”


	20. Trembling

Tony was trembling, he was so mad. His hands were shaking as he stood in his lab, trying to calm himself down. If he left now to talk, it was going to be a fight he was never going to win, which only made him more angry.

Why the hell did Clint have to be so defiant, so reckless? What went through his mind that ever made him thinking certain ideas were great, even feasible? It’s like at every turn the man was doing something new to give everyone a god damn heart attack. Sure, most of the time he made the right decision, and did it so beautifully that it was mesmerizing to watch. Other times-

Tony heard the door open and he leaned over the table, his knuckles turning white from gripping the edge so hard. He heard the steady footsteps coming up behind him and he closed his eyes.“You need to leave,” Tony said firmly. “I am not in the mood right now, Barton.”

“I don’t understand why you are so pissed,” Clint said, his hands moving to Tony’s waist.

Tony knocked his hands away, turned and glared at Clint. The man was standing there as casually as ever, not a single ounce of regret on his face, though he did look puzzled. His face was bruised all down the right side, still dark and angry from today’s earlier “event” as Clint so perfectly described it.

“So you are telling me that I shouldn’t be mad because you ran straight into the middle of a fight for... what exactly?” Tony asked. “What was there to gain? And let’s not forget that it hadn’t started out as a fight until you made it a fight.”

“That’s unfair, I didn’t throw the first punch,” Clint said evenly. “And they were being assholes to the kid-“

“That kid was your age!” Tony exclaimed.

“Still a small guy,” Clint shrugged. “Babe, you are shaking. I’m fine. I’m always fine. I bounce back.”

“And then one of these days you won’t,” Tony hissed. “One of these days you are going to rush in recklessly and you are going to get hurt. You’ll get stabbed, or shot-“

“I’ve been both.”

“You aren’t helping!” Tony shouted, shoving Clint backwards. He knew if Clint wanted, he could have stood still from the action, but the man backed down. “You won’t wear the gear I make you, you won’t slow down, take things easy for a change. You are by far the most irritating man in existence. And I’m pretty fucking sick of it, Clint.”

Clint was silent but unmoved, his smile fading to something closer to that blank stare he gave when his walls were building up. “Clint, I want a partner. I don’t want a guy who I have to constantly worry about if he is going to live to see another day. Do you have any idea the stress of that?”

Clint looked defiant again. “And I want a partner who wants to admit to more than just our friends that we are a thing, show me off every now and again. I guess we both don’t get to have what we want, do we?”

Tony leaned back, trying to create more distance. “You said you were fine with-“

“I say a lot of shit, Tony,” Clint replied, his anger finally starting to bubble over. “And my exact words were ‘take your time, I’m okay with it for now’ which was true. But it’s been damn close to a year now, Tony. So- what’s the hold up?”

Tony slumped. “Just... get out, Barton,” he requested, feeling defeated. Clint was silent, watching Tony for a moment before he shook his head and headed out. Tony thought Clint leaving would be a good thing, but it somehow made him feel worse.


	21. Asphyxiation

Clint tried to lay as still as he could for as long as he could. But the warm hand wasn’t leaving his throat, only tightening, and he was starting to struggle to breathe. His hands moved up and grabbed onto the wrist, trying to pull it back, ease it off. But then when he couldn’t breath, the panic set in.

Bucky and Clint both had nightmares, and they both knew how to deal with them. Clint hated to be touched when he woke up, couldn’t stand the sensation until his brain caught up with reality. Bucky was much the same, though he tended to react quicker when the dreams were especially bad.

This one- this one was bad. Bucky had moved him before Clint even had time to wake up and Clint had grabbed onto his arm. Normally when Clint became submissive, Bucky would slowly pull himself off the edge. But there was a blank look in his eyes that Clint hadn’t seen since he first ran into Bucky, when he was only the Winter Soldier. The spell was lasting longer than normal, the grip tighter.

Clint opened his mouth but without his hearing aids in, he didn’t know just how quietly he had talked. Bucky was unmoved and Clint struggled to keep himself calm; fighting would only make him lose his breathe quicker.

Yet still Bucky wouldn’t budge. Clint dug his nails into Bucky’s flesh arm, desperate to pull him out of whatever trance he was still in, but his vision was getting fuzzy around the edges. He pushed his legs up, trying to gain some leverage, but Bucky was a rock.

Clint dropped his hands again. He wasn’t going to be able to wait this out for much longer, not consciously. He spread his fingers out, but he was damn close to the middle of the bed with nothing around him. 

All at once, Bucky snapped out of it and flung himself backwards. Clint’s throat and lungs felt like they were on fire as he tried to breathe in as much as he could between coughing, rolling to his side. He was aware of a lot of movement, heard a door bang off the wall-

This was going to turn into a fight as soon as Clint was willing to get off the mattress.


	22. Laced Drink

The text made no sense- which was Clint’s first clue that something was seriously wrong. He had just gotten back from a mission and was just hopping out of the shower when he saw it. He read “bar” and “super fun”, but aside from that, Clint didn’t have a single clue what Bucky was talking about.

Clint groaned, finished patching himself up before he turned on a locator that was on Bucky’s phone. Clint hated the damn thing- he didn’t like not having the privacy to disappear for a bit without someone knowing where he was. But Bucky had been insistent, stating their jobs were dangerous and what if. So Clint begrudgingly agreed.

Bucky was at a bar, Clint was familiar enough with that side of town to know that with absolute certainty. And Bucky never went to a bar by himself. Clint walked down the street, tugging the hood of his hoodie up in case someone actually recognized him for once. He just wanted to get to Bucky and get home. 

There was a nagging feeling in his stomach the closer he got. Bucky couldn’t get drunk, not without that shit drink Thor occasionally brought with him. So there was no reason for the incoherence. Unless-

The area had been known for their variety of date rape drugs. Just the other day at a bar a few blocks down Clint had watched a man slip something into a woman’s drink. Clint managed to get them both distracted enough to switch their drinks, then proceeded to watch the man trip on his own drug cocktail before calling the police. Clint wasn’t exactly sure about the finer details, but maybe a drug was possible at taking Bucky down? He would say no but if someone was purposely stalking Bucky and knew anything about him… Clint swore and walked faster.

Clint found the bar and showed his Avengers ID before slipping in. He didn’t really want anyone to be on edge, but he wasn’t exactly sure what he was walking into. Clint pulled his hood down as he looked around. The bar was packed, and Bucky was on par height wise with a lot of people.

He couldn’t find Bucky anywhere. He checked his phone again, but the ping was still coming from close by, within yards. Clint checked the bathroom, checked the back alley, but there were no signs of the man. Clint started to feel a little panicked the longer he looked, no signs of Bucky anywhere.

He finally found someone that said they had spotted him leaving the bar, but couldn’t give a timeframe. Clint turned the tracking system back on but the signal was gone. Clint swore and left the bar and looked around more closely. He had to be missing something.

Clint froze, not able to breathe when he saw a faint purple case behind a dumpster, purposely tucked in. He wedged it out and looked at the Hawkeye emblem, Clint’s emblem, on the back of the case. He pulled the case off and saw the little card that was tucked on the inside.

Clint dialed his phone, pacing, finally catching his breath until he heard Steve pick up. “Bucky- I can’t find Bucky.”


	23. Bleeding Out

Clint sat by Natasha’s hospital bed silently, one hand reached out and holding Nat’s right hand, the only one that didn’t seem to have a jumble of wires coming out from it. Clint couldn’t even look her way without feeling the urge to cry.

It should have been him. He was the one who had lost focus for a moment back in Lutsk, his mind focusing in on the sharp note that Tony produced over the comms and instantly looking in his direction despite enemies surrounding them. Clint was the one who made the mistake, not Natasha, and he should be the one paying for it. When he heard the gunshot, he was expecting the pain, but not in the way it came, never like this. Natasha had thrown herself in the line of fire for him, and it managed to hit where her suit was lacking the extra protection. It took everything for Clint to stop her from bleeding out, and he could still see the dried blood under his fingernails. 

When Clint was permitted into the room, she looked almost at peace, her face still pale, her breathing regulated finally. Her hair already looked like a tangled mess and he tried to comb it out gently with his fingers before the action became too much. So he sat by her side and held her hand and waited, eyes fixed on the sterile walls in front of him.

Clint heard a light knock and he looked up before letting go of Natasha’s hand. He rubbed his face and walked over to the door. Steve didn’t hesitate to hug him, offer him some form of comfort that they both knew words wouldn’t bring. Clint wanted to cry, but his body wouldn’t allow it.

“She is going to be okay,” Steve said gently. “They said the surgery went fine, nothing major was hit-”

“She was bleeding out, Steve, something major was hit, don’t lie to me,” Clint snapped. He had been in the business long enough to know what fatal wounds looked like. acted like.

“Then we got her here just in time,” Steve restated. “Clint, focus on the positive- Natasha will be fine. Given some rest and relaxation time, she will be back at it again. They are positive of it.”

Clint had a hard time finding the positive when the best thing to have ever happened to him was lying in a hospital bed, attached to so many IV drips and monitors. He looked back and felt his heart being ripped out again and he choked back a sob. 

Steve had said something but Clint didn’t hear it, his mind clouding over. He shuffled back to his previous position and sunk down, taking his hearing aids out. The silence didn’t make him feel any better, but at least then he had an excuse not to talk to anyone else. They would see it as a sign that he needed to be alone. He reached out and touched her hand lightly before he held it again, trying to keep her warm the only way he could at the moment.

“Just don’t die on me, okay?” Clint whispered as he laid his head down on his arm, his eyes averted down to their joined hands. “We both know what an absolute disaster I am without you.” 

He swallowed hard before he felt the tears streaming down his face. He bit his lip and leaned forward, resting his head on his arm as he cried as quietly as he could.


	24. Secret Injury

Clint sat down on some steps, waiting for Tony to get back from his Avengers mission. Clint had stayed behind, his arm in a sling and unable to even hold his bow steady. He whistled as he waited outside of his Bed-stuy apartment, keeping his eyes peeled for any sign of trouble. The last thing he needed was Ivan and his squad tearing through there without being armed.

Out of everyone on the team, Tony was the only one Clint didn’t hang out with. They didn’t even go drink together, and that was something they had in common. Clint had found ways to get close to Steve (baseball games), Bruce (museums), and Thor (video games), but Tony and Clint never meshed right. Tony was too flashy, too egotistical, liked to be the center of attention. Clint preferred to stay in the background, included but with low expectations.

Finally, Clint said screw it. He bought two tickets to some geek convention that he knew Tony was going to anyway. And despite Tony laughing at him for even buying admission tickets, he had agreed. But on the terms that Clint went to the opening ceremony for the event, which involved wearing a suit- which Clint begrudgingly agreed to. 

Clint heard the flashy car before he could see it. He looked down the street and stood up, jogging down the stairs. It was bright yellow, because of course Tony would find the most obnoxious color he could. He opened the door and slid in, his nose wrinkling.

“Did… you really have this thing reupholstered to have red seats?” Clint asked accusingly. “Isn’t that a little, I don’t know- egotistical?”

“Hey, you have your color, I have mine,” Tony answered before he took off.

Clint looked over at Tony and frowned. He looked pale, maybe a little sweaty. He appeared to still be on edge about whatever Avengers event had taken place. Clint hadn’t seen Tony look so wrecked in a long time, and it was becoming troubling. There was something wrong and Clint had no idea of how to deal with Tony through it. 

“Hey Tony, maybe we should pull this over, call it a day,” Clint suggested.

“I’m fine, and we are late,” Tony answered. “You are the one who wanted to, what was it? Expand our horizons? Explore our friendship? What was it?”

“Yeah yeah, I know, I get that,” Clint replied. “But, uh- should you really go looking like you just had a dance party with Count Dracula or something? I mean- wait, are you bleeding?”

“Barton,” Tony groaned.

“Pull over.” Tony looked defiant as he kept driving. “Pull the fuck over before I grab the steering wheel and make us clash,” Clint growled.

“Alright, alright,” Tony said. It took a minute, because New York was not the easiest place to find a place to park in, but Tony complied. “What the- hey!”

Clint lunged across the center console and worked on Tony’s shirt, pulling it open. The wound needed stitches, not the shitty patch job Tony had done to it. It was seeping still and Clint could kill the man.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Clint asked. “Do you realize this could get infected? You don’t have a fully functional heart. This needs stitches! How the hell did you make it past Steve looking like this?” Tony leaned back and closed his eyes, a small smile on his face. “You are the worst.” Clint sighed. “Alright, let’s get you to the tower and get you taken care of. And stop smiling like that- no pulling my move on me. It’s rude.”


	25. Humiliation

“Bucky, slow down,” Clint called. For a man who was shorter, he was picking up the pace to get away from Clint. “Buck. Bucky. Barnes! Come on!” Clint had to jog to get in front of him and put his hands up. “Can we hit pause?”

“No. Move.”

“But I don’t understand what you are so mad about!” Clint declared. “Why are you mad at me? I’m sorry. I am so sorry, babe. Please tell me what I can do to make this better.” He felt like he was on the verge of crying again.

“I’m not mad at _you_. Move, Barton. I want to head to the range, shoot some things.”

Clint didn’t stop him as he walked by, shoulder checking Clint. Clint wrinkled his nose and rubbed his shoulder. He couldn’t understand how the day had gone so wrong. He thought it was perfect, everything had gone perfect until-

Clint knew six months ago that Bucky was the one. He had taken things slow, which was not Clint’s specialty. It took Clint four months to even ask Bucky out on a date. He was elated when Bucky agreed; he admittedly was expecting the worse. In the three years they had known each other, they of course had their issues, but they _worked_ on them. Clint helped Bucky see the better things in life, step outside his comfort zone; Bucky helped Clint with his insecurities, made him slow down, learn to enjoy the quiet moments. They complimented each other, made each other better.

It took Clint six months to gather the courage to figure out the best way to propose. He knew Bucky wasn’t one to make publicity stunts, but they had watched a few YouTube videos of flash mobs, one was a proposal, and Bucky loved them. Bucky would never admit to it, but he loved to dance. So Clint enlisted the help of a local dance company. He would come up with excuses to leave the tower without the other man to attend practices, learn how to do the moves. At one point Bucky accused him of cheating, they had a huge blow up. Steve was the one who convinced Bucky that Clint was secretly taking cooking classes (which then turned into Clint having to take cooking classes to figure out how to make some dish Bucky would like).

Clint finally pulled the trigger and came up with a date. He made sure the team was all there, Thor included. He wanted their friends there- they were their family. It wasn’t easy- the Avengers drew a lot of attention whenever they were out and about. Tony himself drew a lot of attention.

And Clint did it. He danced with the flashmob to “Marry You” by Bruno Mars; it was an inside joke between them about how it would be fun to show up to the tower married someday. It went off without a hitch. Clint didn’t care about the people holding their phones, taking videos, making noise; he just cared about Bucky and waiting for him to crack a smile.

But he never did. Clint was holding the box with the ring, out of breath and sweating, and Bucky’s face was perfectly still. Clint could still feel the way his heart seemed to stop as he said Bucky’s name. Bucky’s eyes looked at the crowd that had formed, looked back at Clint, and he shook his head before walking.

It was humiliating in the worst way; Clint was devastated. It took everyone a moment to move. Clint heard Steve call after Bucky before jogging to catch up with him. Tony looked shocked and had to explain to Thor is a hushed tone what was happening. Natasha, bless her, moved before anyone else to hug Clint. He was _not_ going to cry. He was _not_


	26. Abandoned

_“Pull back!”_

Clint lowered his weapon when the direction came through his earpiece. He was sure he heard it wrong. “Sir?”

_“We need to pull back. This place is rigged. It’s a no win opportunity.”_

Clint raised his weapon and fired another shot at a man that rounded the corner, hitting him square in the chest. “Sir, there was still people down one more flight of stairs,” he argued.

Clint was new to the mission thing. He joined S.H.I.E.L.D. to get his shit together, get on the legal side of things. It wasn’t an easy process- Clint did not like taking orders, and he certainly didn’t like taking orders when he disagreed with him. Fury had gone through many people to tame Clint’s instincts and anger before he landed on Coulson. Clint resisted at first, but Coulson was too good for him; not quick to anger, would let Clint work out things his own way before gently showing him a better way. For the first time in a long time, Clint thought someone finally understood and cared about him- it made him feel weak yet safe again.

_“It’s an order, Barton. Fall back.”_

“I am not abandoning fellow agents, Phil,” Clint protested. “Only five more-”

_“We do not have five minutes. Barton, you are not putting the rest of this team at risk. We have been through this. Agents make this life their choice, they know the risks when they take the job. We need to go. Now.”_

Clint was so close and the temptation was there. He could see the stairs that led down to the last five prisoners. He could hear their pleas. He took a few deep breaths. He could make it in three- he knew he could push himself that far. But what he didn’t know if the people below could keep up speed enough to make the risk worth the reward.

Clint backed off then turned and ran. It felt wrong, it felt like the easy way out. And Coulson had sounded so cold and unmoved by the notion. Coulson had to have known some of those people, Clint had glanced at each of their security clearances- they weren’t below a four. They have put in their time, just for S.H.I.E.L.D. to abandon them when they needed the backup the most. It made Clint’s skin itch to work like this. Before S.H.I.E.L.D. Clint wouldn’t have even thought twice about the risk- he would have taken the leap and dealt with the consequences as they came. 

“Fuck,” Clint shouted, ripping his helmet off and throwing it against the wall as soon as he got to safety with the rest of the team. He sat down and grabbed his head. He felt his mood darken. He didn’t join S.H.I.E.L.D. for this- he didn’t join something to have losing situations. He didn’t join a group just to leave people behind. It made him feel like a piece of shit, like he worked hard for nothing.

“This one is on me.” Clint watched as Coulson sat down next to him. “You did everything right, Agent Barton. I know this is a hard pill to swallow, but this will happen. We don’t like abandoning fellow agents but sometimes it is unavoidable.”

“I’ll do better next time to make sure it doesn’t happen again,” Clint said with determination. He ducked his head and took a shaky breath, coming down from the adrenaline high.

“Something tells me that you aren’t lying,” Coulson replied with a knowing smile.


	27. Ransom

Clint gasped when his back hit the bathroom door, partially surprised by the show of strength, while the rest of it was due to the damn doorknob digging into his back. The woman must not have noticed though because she was using his tie to pull him down to her level to kiss him again, trailing then down to his jaw.

Clint made sure the hotel door was closed before he picked her up and she squealed. It was easier access he figured as he carefully walked to the bed. Her hands were working at undoing the top few buttons of his shirt, loosen his tie.

He deposited her on the bed and she reached over, grabbed his belt, and he put a hand on her wrist. “Mhhh- no,” he said. “Let me do it, slow. You watch.” He grinned when something dark flashed in her eyes and she settled back and watched. He took his suit jacket off first, slowly and tossed it at her. 

This was almost too easy that it hurt. She was laughing and fumbling with the suit jacket as he reached into his pocket, slipping something thin in his right hand. He pulled off his tie and draped it on the bed and looked up as she moved forward, her mouth on his. He leaned into it to push her back down closer to the mattress before his hand pressed firmly on the back of her neck. There was a jerking motion and she hissed.

“What did you _do_?” the woman asked, her eyes completely turning black. Clint grabbed her wrists into one hand and grabbed his tie, working it. At least this would buy him time.

“Sorry, it’s nothing personal,” Clint said as he worked at the knots. “It’s just that… your people have someone I want. And seeing as I am not going to be flinging myself into space… well… they shouldn’t let the daughter of one of the higher ups go out partying and drinking. Stranger danger.”

“An Avenger then,” she growled. Clint could finally see her skin shifting to a luminescent green. “You want him back and you think you can barter with me,”

“Mhh, I know I can barter with you,” Clint replied. He knelt down and grabbed a case under his bed. “Because it’s about that time of year, right? I’m not the smartest man but let me see if I can get one right. Your society is heavily male based- females don’t come along often. And your breeding season is literally a three day span. And that starts in-” Clint checked his watch, “-two hours. So, they have only seventy-four hours to get you back in time to hopefully have a successful season, make babies, yada yada, or else… it’s one more failure. And seeing as you are high in their food chain princess, I bet they really want a royal girl to be born, am I right? You have three boys?”

Clint knew he was pulling on all the right strings. “Excuse me,” he said, slipping a hand into the front of her shirt until he grabbed her phone. He pressed her fingers against the interface until it switched on. “I do feel bad about this, you do seem nice enough. But this world needs Steve Rogers, and your world doesn’t need to be taking humans for research purposes.” He held the phone out. “Tell it to call whoever- put your face on the screen with me.” She hesitated, her jaw set defiantly. “Look lady. I’m not even an Avenger anymore, haven’t been for years. So you comply or I will find a way to ship a finger. My favorite ones to ship are thumbs.” Her face paled and she complied quickly. “Good alien girl- hi dad!” he greeted.


	28. Beaten

He couldn’t run anymore; mentally, he had been beaten down, physically he was worn out and thinner than he probably should be. He was so damn tired of living life this way- he just wanted to go home. He had a life there, once, before all of this. He had Phd’s, he had his research- he was a well known scientist. And now he was a wanted man because of what was inside of him.

He couldn’t ignore the rumbling ground, explosive under his feet. He stood still and heard a lot of noises- crashing, shattering, grinding, screaming. He tried to control his heart rate but he wanted out. He swallowed back a few times before he stumbled his way towards the scene of the crime.

Earthquakes weren’t uncommon here, but the intensity was enough to crumble the already failing infrastructure. He shook his head and started weaving through the sea of debris and people, trying to help. He had to take a lot of breaks, had to find some peace to keep _him_ at bay, but he wanted to help. This community had done so much to help him, it would have been rude otherwise.

It was with a shock that he saw a black tactical vest among the sea of people, the symbol of a bird on the back. The man’s hair was likely blond, but it was caked in dust. He had turned around just in time and the two locked eyes, both freezing. His heart was running wild and he twitched, feeling shaky from rage. _No._ They had found him again. The man was approaching and-

“Doctor Banner,” he said slowly, carefully, a hand held out. “It’s okay- I’m not here for you.” The words should have felt empty but there was a lot of pleading behind the blue eyes in front of him. “Doctor, there’s a lot of hurt people here. We can work together, okay? Then… I will disappear and pretend I never saw you. But… you can’t let him get the best of you. Not right now, not with all this. Can you work with me?”

Bruce didn’t believe or trust the man. S.H.I.E.L.D. was always after him, and he always got away because of the green guy. But there was something oddly soothing about the man with blue eyes that made Bruce want to believe him for a minute. He took a step back, closed his eyes for a moment. _He_ was too close to the surface, Bruce was too angry and upset. When he opened his eyes again, the blond was regarding him carefully, assessing the situation. Whoever he was, he was well trained because not once did he make a move that would have certainly brought _him_ out.

The man turned when he heard a scream and rushed to jump back in. Bruce didn’t hesitate- he at least could help in first aid, and he did. He caught sight of the blond a few times, still in the mix of evacuating people, pulling them from the rubble. He didn’t so much as give directions as he took them; his Spanish had to be pretty fluent because he always seemed to understand what was being said.

“Excuse me.” Bruce forgot he was there. The blond angled his head. “Can you rinse this and bandage it for me?” he asked, holding his hand out. “I have to pull out before I draw attention to you.”

Bruce frowned. “Why are you doing this?” he asked, not moving. “You could get in-”

“Trouble?” he laughed. “Kind of my super power by now.” He sniffled and looked away. “Sometimes I don’t agree with orders- and at those times I don’t follow them. You haven’t been a threat in over four months- no code green sightings, so to speak. You stay human, I won’t need you on my radar.”

Bruce slowly got to work patching his hand back up for him. “Who are you?”

“Agent Barton,” the man replied with a lazy grin. “No offense, but I hope we don’t run into each other again, Doctor Banner. I would hate the meet the big guy.” Bruce smiled a little at that, watched the man flex his hand when Bruce was done. “Take care, Doctor Banner.”

“You as well, Agent Barton.”


	29. Numb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this one reflects on a character death- if that's not your style, please skip ahead. Otherwise, enjoy.

_Eat. Make coffee. Sleep. Shower. Sleep more. Answer your damn phone, Barton. If you don’t answer your texts, they will come and check on you. Eat something again. Don’t forget the coffee. Sleep. Repeat._

Clint was a little more than a zombie for two weeks. He decided to finally take that vacation time Phil was bitching at him to take. It was a mistake. Taking vacation meant sitting on his ass; sitting on his ass meant he had time to think and that was the last thing Clint needed to do.

At first he had been upset. He cried, he shouted, screamed at the top of his lungs. He let himself feel it because he didn’t have a choice.. Everything was so damn raw and painful, it had been too new for him to process in any other way.

But after the initial shock had warn off, all two days of it, Clint felt empty. He had asked for the vacation, and who was going to deny it to him? Clint vaguely remembered hearing Phil talk about a therapist but he didn’t want to talk about it. Talking about it made the wounds reopen and it was not something he was prepared to deal with.

Clint was doing the important things, at least he thought he was. He hadn’t worked out in weeks, that was fine. But he did eat, he drank something other than coffee, who cared if it was beer? It all had water in it, right? He showered because that had to be important for something. And he texted back occasionally. Maybe not everyday but he had done it. 

Clint paused outside of his bedroom for the first time in two weeks. He felt his breathe come in too quickly, too sharply, and he couldn’t let it go. He saw the picture of her- she was smiling. Her red hair was in a braid, something she had taught him to do because ‘if I ever break my arm, you have to do this for me.’ Clint would have done anything for her.

When he did let go of his breath he felt the sob go with it. He felt angry and he hit the frame, listened to the shattering of glass, felt the sting of pain in his knuckles; it was the first thing he had felt in weeks.

He should have been there for her. If he was there, this would have never happened. They had each other’s backs- always. She wouldn’t have had to go, to leave him alone. But instead they were forced to take different paths and Clint wasn’t sure he could ever forgive Fury for that.

The next picture was the both of them and they looked _happy_. Clint flung the picture off the wall, taking some sense of pleasure in hearing it shatter. So Clint did it again, and again, and-

“No, stop.” Clint felt someone grab his wrist, pull him away. He pushed and shoved, reached for the last photo on the wall. “Clint, stop.”

Clint felt another sob erupt from his chest and he felt his knees buckle, hands keeping him up, away from the spray of glass lying on the floor. He saw blood, probably his, and it was ruining the photo of her in that damn dress.

“It should have been me,” Clint whispered. “I can’t- I can’t do this without her. I don’t know how. _I need her._”

“I know,” Steve said, his voice cracking as he pulled Clint closer to his body. Clint sagged against him. “But you owe it to yourself to try.”


	30. Recovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one references a character's death, and may be a little disturbing. If not your thing, please skip this one. Otherwise, enjoy.

It was reckless and stupid- but god did it feel good even if he was laying on the ground in a world of hurt. Clint stared up at the sky, feeling a smile develop and he closed his eyes. Breathing was hard, sure, but that just meant that maybe he was closer to-

“What the hell did you do?” Clint wanted to scream and he looked down his body to watch Steve. If Steve was there, that meant he was going to be med-evac’d swiftly. Clint closed his eyes and swallowed.

“I kinda fell,” Clint said slowly. “After I smacked into the side of a building.”

“Tony, going to need a med-evac for Barton and quick.” Clint could hear the edge to his tone, could hear how he was simultaneously pissed and concerned. Clint felt a hand pressed to his chest and he looked at Steve. “You didn’t… do this on purpose, right?”

“Not this time,” Clint muttered. “Doombot cut my cord from my grappling arrow.” Clint looked to the right. “Doombot.” Steve turned and threw his shield. “You can check for yourself if you don’t believe me. The cord is dangling out that window. Think my bow is on the dumpster. Kinda surprised I’m not in the dumpster. That would be funny.”

“I don’t know what you think you are doing, but clearly you aren’t ready to be in the field again.”

“Doombot,” Clint muttered again. He raised his hand and shot it with his gun. “Heh. Got it.” He dropped his arm back down and closed his eyes.

“Clint.”

It was scolding. Clint didn’t want scolded. He wanted- he didn’t know what he wanted anymore. Things didn’t make sense anymore- they hadn’t for over a month now. Everyone said it took time but how long did it take before you felt something close to normal again? People said everyone grieves differently, but what the hell was he doing? Was this grieving? Because right now Clint wasn’t even sure if this was living. 

“Clint?”

Clint tilted his head back and looked back. He remembered at one point how he wanted Bucky- how he wanted to slip deeper into his life, be more than what they were. He remembered how Natasha laughed at him, rolled her eyes, and wished him luck. And then she… then she told him to go for. Told him he should be happy.

And then she died and all he wanted was her back. All he wanted was his best friend to appear, say it was just a life model and that she was sorry to keep him waiting. He wanted to smell her head, her shampoo, feel her curves. He wanted life to go back to normal.

“Maybe his hearing aids went out,” Bucky said.

“I can hear you- what did you say?” Clint asked.

“We asked what’s broke,” Steve said.

“Dun worry Cap… I’ll make a full recovery,” Clint said, the words sticking in his throat as he said them. “I always do.”


	31. Embrace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Implied character death- please skip if that's not your thing.

It was- weird. At first the whole thing seemed like a cruel joke, like someone had found out his weakness and had been screwing with him, trying to break him down. But then there were pictures, recent pictures, and recent murders. There were things that just clicked.

_But it’s impossible._

“You are obsessing over a deadend,” Bucky warned him. “You need to sleep, babe. When was the last time you slept?”

Clint had no idea, but he knew Bucky’s hand in his hair was lolling him faster than anything else. It was soothing, familiar and-

“Stop.” Bucky stopped for a moment, his hand dropping to the back of Clint’s neck and giving it a squeeze. “Bucky, everything screams its her. Look at-”

“Babe, she’s dead,” Bucky said firmly.

“But Bucky, look at-”

“Clint.” The tone was sharp. Clint flinched and turned in the chair, looking up at Bucky and instantly felt bad.

Bucky and Natasha had a connection, just like Clint had with her. There was so much history, of course Bucky had been upset when she passed. But he handled it well; he kept working, he was dealing with his emotions behind losing her. And Clint was currently chasing leads that probably didn’t even exist.

“ ‘m sorry,” Clint sighed, leaning forward, putting his head against Bucky’s stomach. He took a deep breath. “Come on, let’s go to bed then,” he relented, slowly making his way to his feet.

“Thank you,” Bucky said, wrapping his arms around Clint. “You are scaring me, babe. I know you miss her like crazy but…” he let the words trail off. Clint knew what he wanted to say and was thankful when he hadn’t.

And then came the knock. Bucky froze and looked over at the apartment door. It was late, nearly two in the morning. Bucky dropped his arms and reached for his gun. Clint took a few steps to the left, grabbing a putty arrow. While he didn’t expect trouble, he could at least slam this hard enough against someone’s shoulder to activate it. It was something that could buy time.

Clint made his way to the door, took a deep breath before he unlocked it then opened it. And he froze. It couldn’t be real. She was there. It looked so much like her that it hurt. The red hair, perfectly braided and out of her face. Those sharp green eyes that softened instantly when their eyes connected. And her smell.

“Tasha?” Clint asked, barely a whisper. His hands were shaking as he reached up and touched her face.

“Clint! No!” Bucky had shouted.

Clint embraced her, pulling her in and he felt himself sob. It was her- she was here, and Clint was so focused on the joy he felt that he didn’t notice one arm dropping. His eyes widened when he felt something pierce his stomach; his breath caught in his throat and he closed his eyes. He felt himself being ripped away from what should have been Natasha, stumbling back. His hands went to his stomach, he felt around, everything slippery from the amount of blood loss already. He flinched at the gunshot.

“Clint,” Bucky said. “Clint, baby.” He felt the warm body, felt tears, but he didn’t know which one of them was crying. The warmth left and Clint whimpered before he was picked up. He heard Bucky talking but couldn’t focus on what he was saying anymore, becoming numb.

_But it looked just like her_ he thought as he closed his eyes again to drift off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn L.M.D.s.- they can be a bit hard to spot.   
Anyway!  
Happy Halloween! =) I hope you enjoyed all the short stories.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy! Cliffhangers- everyone's favorite kind of evil. =)


End file.
